


The Love Languages of Knitting

by Ignisentis



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Amazing 80s Sweaters, Extreme Levels of Softness, M/M, Nicky Knits, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28267503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis
Summary: Yusuf hums, furrowing his brow a little as he thinks. “You want to learn,” he realizes after they’ve walked a few moments in silence toward the markets where they’ve been working this week.“I do.”“Why?”“I want…” Nicolò huffs and trails off, frustrated at himself. He’s not quite sure how to answer Yusuf’s question. “We both have hurt and killed so much,” he tries again, “but you also have your sketches, your art.”“Ah. You want to use your hands to create, too.”“Yes,” Nicolò sighs, pleased and relieved that Yusuf understands.***This is the story of how Nicky learns to knit and how he uses knitting to express his love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 83
Kudos: 162
Collections: The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020





	The Love Languages of Knitting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tagada1234](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagada1234/gifts).



> I'm an avid knitter, so inevitably I write about knitting.
> 
> This time it's for [notablogtobefollowedunless](https://notablogtobefollowedunless.tumblr.com/). I hope you enjoy!

They’re in Bruges for a couple of weeks, taking a little break between missions. Andy is out doing something; Nicky didn’t catch what she mumbled as she was walking out the door. Nicky is sitting at the kitchen table, knitting as he waits for Nile and Joe to be ready so they can all head to the Groeningemuseum so Nile and Joe can talk about the art there.

Nicky looks up from his knitting as Nile walks past the kitchen table to grab two bottles of water from the fridge before coming back over. She sets one of the bottles down in front of him, and he thanks her as she pulls out a chair and sits down. She watches him for a little while as she drinks, trying to track the motion of his hands to see if she can map it to what it creates.

“What are you working on?” she asks after a few minutes, clearly stumped by the whole knitting process.

“A scarf,” he tells her, pausing his work to hold it up for her to see.

“Doesn’t look very scarf-like to me.”

“I just started it this morning, so it isn’t very long yet.”

“Ah.”

He waits to see if she’ll ask anything else. She has so many questions, is so curious about everything, and it’s been a joy to see the world through her young eyes.

“What’s your favorite thing to knit?” she finally asks, which isn’t at all what he expected her to say. He takes a moment to think about it.

“Sweaters for Joe. And socks for Joe. Oh, and hats for Joe.”

Nile laughs at him, and he smiles back and shrugs his shoulder, unashamed. 

“Anything for Joe, I should have known,” she teases. “How long have you been knitting?”

“Oh, centuries. I learned not long after Joe and I met.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Don’t you two look cozy!” Joe says from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he smiles. Nicky hums and tilts his face up as Joe comes into the kitchen so he can lean down to press a soft kiss to Nicky’s nose. He pulls out another chair at the kitchen table and sits down. 

“Okay, hold up, you need to tell me where the _hell_ you got that sweater!” Nile exclaims, waving her hand at Joe.

“Isn’t it great? Nicky made it for me!” Joe pushes back from the table and pulls down the hem so Nile can see the pattern on the front. The sweater is a bright yellow pullover with a large, realistic strawberry in the center, seeds and stem and all. There is a red zig-zag stripe across the chest that extends all the way down both sleeves and five silver lightning bolts spaced out around the bottom of the strawberry.

“I was wondering where that one ended up,” Nicky muses as Nile loses her mind over Joe’s sweater.

“Holy shit, that has to be the greatest sweater I have ever seen! Did you make that in the ‘80s? The 1980s, I mean?” she asks, awe in her voice.

“Yes, there were some very interesting patterns that decade, and Joe can pull off anything, so.”

“Wait till you see the one he made me with the banana on it!” Joe laughs.

“Oh, my god, _please_ tell me that sweater is in this safe house,” she begs, looking between the two of them for confirmation.

“Alas, it’s in Berlin. But we can try and convince Andy to go there next, if you want,” Joe tells her.

“Yes. We definitely need to do that. I _need_ to see the banana sweater.”

Nicky huffs out a laugh, smiling softly when he looks up to find Joe staring at him fondly.

“Okay, what’s the first thing you ever knitted for Joe, Nicky? Was it a sweater with some sort of goofy pottery on it or something?”

“Pottery? Why pottery?” Joe asks, laughter in his voice.

“I don’t know! Didn’t you use that sort of shit way back in 1090 whatever?” Nile counters, smiling at Joe’s reaction.

“Of course we used pottery, but we didn’t wear sweaters!” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know that? Not like I was alive at the time, old man!”

Joe bursts into laughter, and Nile joins him, rolling her eyes at herself. When they’ve calmed down, Nicky says, “It was a scarf.”

“What?” Nile asks.

“The first thing I knitted Joe. It was a scarf. Well. More like a wrap, I suppose. It was wide and long, good for wrapping around your neck and shoulders and face a few times to keep out the chill.”

Nicky looks over at Joe when he sighs fondly. He has the look on his face he always gets when he’s thinking about their past together and is overcome with the strength of his emotions.

“I miss that scarf,” he tells Nicky, voice thick.

“I know, _tesoro_ ,” Nicky says. He slides his hand out toward Joe, palm up. Joe reaches out to rest his hand on top of Nicky’s, his slender fingers tracing back and forth across the thin skin of Nicky’s wrist. It tickles, like it always does, which is why Joe does it. He knows how much Nicky likes it.

“Will you tell me about it?” Nile asks softly, a reverent look on her face when Nicky glances at her. “Or is it too private?”

Nicky appreciates that she thought to ask and holds out his other hand for her, squeezing gently to reassure her when she places her hand in his. “It’s not too private,” he tells her, “but it’s a bit of a story. Might take a little while to tell.”

She flaps her free hand at him. “The museum can wait.”

“All right.” Nicky pulls his hands back to put his knitting away in his project bag before leaning forward to start talking.

***

Yusuf had led him out of Jerusalem months ago, somewhat begrudgingly, but as they’d slowly worked their way west and a little south, they’d forged a bond. Yusuf was quick to anger in the early days, not that Nicolò blames him, not now that he’s come to realize what he had done, what he had believed and bought into and blindly followed. Who he’d killed without a second thought. It sickens Nicolò to think about it now, and he’ll spend the rest of his apparently endless life making amends.

Yusuf is much slower to anger now, quick to smile instead, and he’s an incredible companion. Nicolò can’t imagine his life without him, and doesn’t really want to. They’ve been in Cairo for a few weeks when Yusuf begs him to accompany him to Alexandria, like Nicolò would ever go anywhere without Yusuf again. Yusuf says wants to be by the sea for a change.

So they go.

Yusuf does most of the talking still, Nicolò’s Arabic coming along but rudimentary and badly pronounced, and he finds them a room in a block with a small balcony overlooking the central courtyard. 

There’s an old woman sitting at a small table in the courtyard one morning when they leave to find work, fiddling with some yarn and two long, thin sticks. Nicolò tries to make out what she’s doing, but Yusuf is walking briskly this morning, and he doesn’t want to fall behind. He tells her good morning before catching up to Yusuf, hoping she’ll be there when they return to their room later.

She isn’t. 

But she is there the next morning. And the next. And the next.

“What is she doing?” Nicolò finally asks Yusuf when they pass her on the fourth morning.

“Who?”

“The woman at the table in the courtyard.”

“Oh, Zahra? She’s knitting.”

“She’s what?”

“Knitting. They don’t have that in Genoa?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

Yusuf hums, furrowing his brow a little as he thinks. “You want to learn,” he realizes after they’ve walked a few moments in silence toward the markets where they’ve been working this week.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I want…” Nicolò huffs and trails off, frustrated at himself. He’s not quite sure how to answer Yusuf’s question. “We both have hurt and killed so much,” he tries again, “but you also have your sketches, your art.”

“Ah. You want to use your hands to create, too.”

“Yes,” Nicolò sighs, pleased and relieved that Yusuf understands.

Yusuf hums again, walking in silence once more. They spend the morning helping a merchant unload and organize his goods in his stall, the afternoon helping unload the morning’s catch from a fishing boat.

“Next week,” Yusuf says as they’re walking back home, the day’s payment stored happily in their purses. “We can ask Zahra if she’ll teach you next week.” He looks over at Nicolò with a hesitant smile. Nicolò nods his head and smiles back, bumping his shoulder into Yusuf’s once as they walk.

Yusuf has Nicolò stand back a bit when he approaches Zahra, not wanting her to feel pressured when he asks about the lessons. Nicolò sees Zahra frown when Yusuf finishes talking, then gestures in his direction before shrugging her shoulders and waving him over. 

“She says she’ll teach you,” Yusuf tells him, “and that I’m to sit here and translate for the two of you until you get the hang of it.”

“Thank you, Yusuf,” Nicolò says sincerely, for that is more of a gift than Nicolò realized Yusuf was willing to give. 

Yusuf waves him off. “Think nothing of it. You should be thanking _her_.”

Yusuf is right, so Nicolò does, as best he can. Zahra smiles widely, and Nicolò likes that she isn’t afraid to show the gaps in her teeth. He also likes that she isn’t afraid to correct his pronunciation.

She has him sit next to her at the table while Yusuf fetches his sketchbook and the drawing implement he uses that Nicolò can’t seem to figure out but doesn’t want to ask about. He sort of likes the mystery of the thing, that Yusuf is so comfortable with it yet Nicolò has no idea what it even is.

Zahra has a spare set of sticks that she calls needles, though they don’t look like any needle Nicolò has ever seen before, and says so. Zahra just laughs raspily and tells Nicolò there are more new things where that came from.

She shows Nicolò how to cast on stitches to start knitting, laughing again when that proves far too complicated for Nicolò to follow. Her laugh is jovial and not unkind, so Nicolò finds he doesn’t mind when it’s aimed at him. It never feels like she’s laughing at him, more like she’s laughing at herself for forgetting that she too had trouble with this when she learned and is only just now remembering.

“Come, instead I will show you a knit,” Zahra says in halting Greek mixed with Arabic, shaking her head at Yusuf when he opens his mouth to translate more fully. She takes Nicolò’s knitting needles and casts on some stitches, knitting a few rows before giving them back.

“There. Now, you watch and do what I do.”

Nicolò does. His stitches are horribly uneven, and he makes a mess of things a few times, but eventually he starts getting the hang of it. Zahra is encouraging and a good teacher, and Nicolò finds he makes excellent progress by the time Zahra says, “that’s enough for my old fingers today. Come back tomorrow morning.”

Both Yusuf and Nicolò thank her and leave her to pack up the knitting supplies. Yusuf’s stomach growls angrily, which makes him laugh and pull Nicolò along to go in search of food.

Nicolò’s knitting stitches are even better by the end of the second lesson, and Zahra deems him ready to try purling on the third day. Yusuf has to translate a number of technical terms and talk around others when even he isn’t sure what Zahra means, but they make do.

By the time a full week passes, Nicolò knows how to knit, purl, cast on, bind off, increase, decrease, and make short rows. He holds up his sampler to Yusuf, who smiles so softly and fondly it makes Nicolò’s chest ache.

Zahra has a wicked smirk on her face when Nicolò looks over, and she says, “you are ready for your first project, Nicolò. Yusuf, thank you for your help. I think we can take it from here. Nicolò, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Did you hear that?” Yusuf asks excitedly when they’re out in the street, making their way to a food stall. “Your first project! We should celebrate!”

Nicolò flushes as his stomach twists. “Don’t tease,” he says bitterly.

Yusuf stops so suddenly Nicolò almost runs into him. “Hey, no,” he says, turning to face Nicolò, his sparkling, dark eyes sincere. “I’m not. I mean it. If Zahra thinks you’re good enough to start making something, that means you’re good at this knitting thing. Which is worth celebrating.”

“Oh,” Nicolò says, his stomach twisting again for an entirely different reason. “In that case, lead the way, if you’re sure we can afford it.”

“Bah, there is always money to be made tomorrow. I know just the place. Let’s go.”

Turns out he does. There’s a food stall that sells the most fragrant bread pockets filled with succulent meat and vegetables, a vendor selling honey cakes next door. Yusuf spends their last coin buying too much food before leading him to a hill where they can sit and eat and look at the Lighthouse in the harbor, slightly earthquake-damaged but still majestic.

They eat their food in companionable silence, and by the time they’re finished, the stars are visible in the night sky. Yusuf scoots close enough that their shoulders are touching before pointing out the constellations and teaching Nicolò their names in Arabic. Nicolò suppresses a shiver, though the evening is warm.

***

“You want me to knit a sock?” Nicolò asks Zahra the next day, slightly confused. 

She cackles at him and holds up a pair of socks she’s recently knitted. There’s a split for the toes, and they go up just past the ankle. “For your sandals,” she says, and Nicolò reaches out to take the sock. He puts it on then straps his sandal on after. He wiggles his toes a few times before smiling at Zahra. 

“It’s comfortable. Warm.”

“Keeps your feet clean while walking!”

Nicolò takes the sock off and hands it back. “Show me how.”

Zahra cackles again and pulls out yarn and needles for Nicolò. 

It takes him two days to finish the first sock, and it’s horrible. He hands it to Zahra, and she looks at it, considering. 

“This is terrible!” She beams at him. “The next will be better.” Nicolò winces as she unravels the sock and balls up the yarn again, passing it back to Nicolò. He takes it with a sigh and casts on a new sock. 

The next one _is_ better, but still not good enough. It’s not until he finishes his fourth sock that Zahra deems it good enough to sell. “You will make some money with this, Nicolò!” She tells him, squeezing his hand. 

Yusuf comes back from work early the next day, arms full of bread, cheese, and dates. He sits down at the table and asks Zahra and Nicolò if they want to join him. They finish their rounds and set their knitting aside, breaking the bread together. Zahra is almost as good a storyteller as Yusuf, and she has Yusuf crying with laughter as she tells him about some of her suitors back in the day. Nicolò tries to follow along, but he doesn’t understand some of the words and phrases Zahra’s using, so instead he lets himself watch Yusuf as he laughs, watches the way his eyes crinkle up, the way his throat bobs, the way his smile cleaves clear across his face and into Nicolò’s heart.

“Can I sit and sketch with you for a while?” Yusuf asks when they’ve finished eating.

“Of course! You work too hard, we don’t see you enough. Come sit and tell me about your family,” Zahra tells him. Yusuf’s smile falters the smallest amount when Zahra says that, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Yusuf takes the leftover food back to their room, returning moments later with his sketchbook and charcoal.

They pass a very pleasant few hours knitting and sketching and talking. Nicolò finishes his second saleable sock just before they lose the light, tucking it away with the rest of his yarn and needles. Yusuf is in the middle of a story, but Zahra notices and nods her head approvingly.

“I finished my first pair of saleable socks today,” Nicolò tells Yusuf later that night when they’re up in their room. He’s folding his clothes, his back turned to Yusuf so he doesn’t have to see his reaction. “Zahra thinks they’ll fetch a fair price. Not as much as hers, but enough to make the yarn and the time worth it.”

“Nicolò,” Yusuf breathes, achingly quiet, and it startles Nicolò enough that he turns to face him. Yusuf’s lips are turned up into the barest hint of a smile, his right hand stretched like he’s trying to reach for Nicolò but doesn’t realize it. He drops it when he sees Nicolò staring at his hand, his long fingers curling into a loose fist he rests on his thigh. He’s still smiling gently when Nicolò manages to look back up at his face.

“You’re still enjoying them? The knitting lessons?” he asks Nicolò, quietly still, like he’ll break some sort of spell if he speaks any louder.

Nicolò nods and smiles the smallest of smiles back. “I am. I have much to learn yet, if our situation here allows it.”

“Of course,” Yusuf says quickly. “If you’re enjoying it, of course you should continue.”

“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, that it would be nice to give my knitted goods to Zahra for her to sell, and for her to keep the money. She has a large family, and we are just the two of us.”

“Why would I mind? They’re yours to do with what you will. Besides, it’s a lovely gesture, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

Nicolò nods his thanks and turns back to his clothes, picking up a tunic to fold.

“I want you to have these,” Nicolò says the next day, holding out his finished pair of socks to Zahra. “Yusuf makes enough money for us, Zahra. You sell it and use the extra money for your family.”

“Nicolò —” she starts, but he interrupts her.

“Please. You’ve taught me so much and have been so patient with me. I’d like to continue our lessons, if you’re agreeable. I’m sure I still have much to learn.”

Zahra nods and takes the socks before reaching out to cup his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Nicolò. Thank you.”

Nicolò swallows heavily and tries to smile at her. She’s wrong, of course: he’s not good. But maybe someday he will be.

They spend a few months in Alexandria. Zahra teaches Nicolò how to knit all sorts of things, and he takes to each of them as naturally as he did to the socks. In truth, Nicolò loves knitting, loves the repetitive nature of the stitches, loves how it helps calm his mind. And like Yusuf guessed months ago when Nicolò first wanted to learn, using his hands to create instead of destroy feels better than he could have imagined.

Yusuf joins them sometimes, if he finishes his work early for the day, and they’ll pass hours talking together or simply sitting in companionable silence. Nicolò would stay there forever in that little courtyard, the rhythmic clacking of the knitting needles a soundtrack to his waking hours. But he can tell that Yusuf is getting restless. He’s used to traveling, to moving around, to seeing new places. And, Nicolò can tell, he wants to start tracking down the women they see in their dreams at night. 

“Somewhere east,” is all he’ll say when Nicolò asks where the women might be. So east is where they’ll go.

“We’ll be leaving in a week,” Nicolò tells Zahra one afternoon, as she’s turning a heel for another sock. “We have somewhere we need to be.”

“Come then,” she says, putting her knitting down. “That’s enough for today. Come meet my family.”

Nicolò finds he can’t refuse her and doesn’t want to anyway.

Zahra’s waiting for them in the courtyard the morning they’re set to leave. She hugs Yusuf and kisses his forehead before leaning close to whisper something in his ear that makes him laugh. He picks up his things and tells Nicolò he’ll wait for him in the street, giving Nicolò and Zahra time alone for their goodbyes.

“Zahra,” Nicolò starts, but she waves him off.

“I have something for you,” she tells him, reaching down into a linen bag to pull out a hank of yarn and press it into Nicolò’s hands. It’s been dyed the most delicate green color and is stunningly soft.

“Zahra,” Nicolò whispers, overwhelmed by the gift. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

“Nonsense,” she huffs, handing over the bag. There are four more hanks of yarn inside, all the same frothy sea green. “It’s the same color as your eyes, Nicolò. It will make him think of you.” 

Nicolò inhales sharply, eyes wide as he looks up from the yarn to meet her gaze. She smiles and pulls him into a strong hug, whispering something in rapid Arabic that he can’t follow. She kisses his forehead before gripping his biceps and taking a step back so she can look at his face.

“When you love him, knit him something. When he loves you back, he’ll wear it.”

Nicolò smiles weakly at her, wanting to speak but unable to choke out the words. She smiles back at him and reaches up to cup his face and wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Thank you, Zahra,” he finally manages. “For everything.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but he’s never been good with words. She seems to understand anyway. She pulls him close again, squeezing him tight.

“Go be happy,” Zahra says when she releases him, “and be safe.”

Yusuf is waiting on the street, leaning against a building and watching people as they walk by. His shoulders are drawn up and he’s tapping his foot against the wall. Nicolò’s never seen him look so anxious. Nicolò walks over and sets his things down.

“Yusuf, what’s —”

“You could stay,” Yusuf blurts, interrupting him. “If you want. I know you like it here, with Zahra. I need to find the women in our dreams, Nicolò, I _need_ to, but if you’d rather stay here I understand. I could find you again, someday.” 

Nicolò frowns and tries to hold his gaze, but Yusuf’s eyes keep skittering away, the look on his face inscrutable. A year ago, he would have jumped at the chance to rid himself of Yusuf, but now. 

Now he can’t imagine his life without him.

Nicolò shakes his head. “My place is with you, Yusuf,” he tells him simply.

Yusuf meets his gaze, his shoulders dropping as he exhales sharply. Smiling, he picks up Nicolò’s things and starts walking. “Come, Nicolò,” he says gently. “Our horses are waiting for us at the stables.”

“Horses! What a luxury,” Nicolò teases, trying to lighten the mood.

Yusuf beams at him. “Only the best for you, Nicolò.”

Nicolò smiles back as his heart thuds wildly in his chest.

They work their way slowly east in the coming months, stopping to work in exchange for food, clothes, or money. They’ve been at a little farmstead for just over a week helping a widow and her children get the place back in working order. She’s wary of Nicolò, as are her children, but Yusuf has vouched for him many times over. Nicolò doesn’t begrudge them their suspicion. No one says it out loud, but he knows it was Christian raiders who destroyed the farm in the first place. So he keeps his head down and smiles politely and eats the food given to him and works as hard as he can.

He’s in the garden today, breaking ground for a new vegetable bed while the widow weeds.

He hears shouting and laughter and looks up to see Yusuf running across the field, a large billy goat chasing after him. The children are laughing and running behind, trying to keep up with Yusuf’s long legs and the furious goat. 

Yusuf manages to climb a tree, shouting insults down to the goat in the Arabic of his homeland so the children won’t understand the colorful words he’s using. He taught them to Nicolò, though, so Nicolò huffs out a laugh at the creative insults Yusuf spits at the goat.

The goat loses interest once Yusuf isn’t running from him anymore, and it wanders away, back to wherever it came from to lie in wait for another person to terrorize, Nicolò presumes. The children laugh and shout up to Yusuf from the base of the tree, and he climbs down, laughing with them. They’re teasing him, mercilessly, and Yusuf beams at them and allows it. The youngest children are hugging his legs, so he ruffles their hair before swinging the smallest one up onto his shoulders. He takes turns carrying them back across the field that way, joking with them all as he walks. 

Yusuf falls asleep early that night, worn out from his escapades with the goat. Nicolò watches him sleep, longing to reach out and brush the curls off his forehead. Instead he reaches into his bag and pulls out his knitting needles and the sea foam yarn.

It takes him months to finish the wide scarf he’s making for Yusuf since he can only knit when the other man is asleep or he’s out working a job when Nicolò isn’t. It takes another two weeks for him to work up the nerve to finally give it to him.

They’re sitting at their campfire, the horses tethered and grazing nearby. Yusuf is telling some story about his travels as a merchant, but Nicolò can’t concentrate. He’s going to give Yusuf the scarf tonight, and he’s terrified. He keeps having to wipe his sweaty palms on his thighs, and it’s disgusting. Why would Yusuf ever want to love someone with sweaty palms?! Maybe he should just try another night.

“And that’s when I said, ‘of course I want to see a man with three heads! Who wouldn’t?’ The djinni laughed and led me to a cave in the mountains, covered with sparkling green gems.”

Nicolò looks over at him in confusion. “What?”

Yusuf chuckles and shrugs. “Where did you go just now?”

“Oh, I…” Nicolò sighs at himself for being so ridiculous. “I have something for you.”

Yusuf’s smile falters for a moment, not expecting that answer. “What is it?”

Nicolò takes a deep breath and picks up his bag with the scarf in it, carrying it over to where Yusuf is sitting. He folds himself down next to Yusuf on the ground and pulls the scarf out. It’s carefully folded and so, so soft.

“Here,” Nicolò says, holding out the scarf to Yusuf.

“Nicolò,” he breathes, reaching out and delicately taking it from Nicolò’s hands. “You made this?”

Nicolò nods. “For you.”

“When?” Yusuf is still holding it between his hands, away from his body like he’s scared he’ll ruin it somehow.

Nicolò shrugs, trying to pretend like his heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest. “When you were asleep, or when we took different jobs.”

“Nico…” Yusuf whispers, the nickname sending a shiver down Nicolò’s spine. Yusuf has never called him that before, and he likes how it sounds coming from Yusuf’s lips. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, beautiful dark eyes glittering in the firelight. He smiles softly before closing his eyes and bringing the scarf to his chest, tucking his nose down to nuzzle into it.

Nicolò watches him, Yusuf’s soft smile reflected on his own face, and knows he made the right choice.

Yusuf doesn’t wear the scarf the next day, and Nicolò tries not to be disappointed. He knew this was a possibility, and anyway, that wasn’t the point. The point was to make Yusuf something just because he loves him. Of course he wants his feelings to be reciprocated, but if they aren’t...well, if they aren’t, then Yusuf is still his friend and companion. Nothing has to change.

One afternoon a few weeks later, Nicolò catches Yusuf reaching into his saddlebag while they’re riding. His hand is empty when he brings it back up, cradling it against his chest for a moment before holding onto the reins once again. Nicolò frowns but doesn’t ask what he’s doing. They share so much, he supposes Yusuf deserves to have some secrets if he wants them.

He sees Yusuf reaching into the same saddlebag more often over the coming weeks when he thinks Nicolò can’t see him, and Nicolò is _dying_ to know what he has in there that keeps making Yusuf smile to himself like that. He gets his answer a few days later when Yusuf pulls his hand out of the saddlebag and a flash of pale green follows, peeking out over the top of the bag. A sharp warmth starts in the middle of Nicolò’s chest and spreads through his body, and all he can think is it’s a good thing Yusuf is riding ahead of him because he can’t keep a smile off his face the rest of the day.

Nicolò is sharpening their swords by the fire early one evening when Yusuf comes back from trapping some rabbits for their dinner. “I caught two big ones!” he says proudly, holding them up for Nicolò to see. Yusuf is beaming at him when he looks up, and he freezes, the whetstone slipping through his fingers and falling to the ground. 

“Nicolò?” Yusuf asks, his smile pinching in concern. “Are you well?”

Nicolò carefully sets his longsword to the side and stands up, walking over to stand before Yusuf. He reaches out and gently pulls the rabbits from Yusuf’s hand, setting them on the ground. Yusuf frowns but lets him as he waits for Nicolò to explain himself.

Nicolò reaches up and touches the sea foam scarf Yusuf has wrapped around his neck, tracing his hands across the knitting. “You’re wearing it,” he whispers when he finally looks into Yusuf’s eyes.

Yusuf’s expression is softer than the yarn under Nicolò’s fingertips. “I am,” Yusuf whispers back, reaching up to tuck some of Nicolò’s hair behind his ear. Nicolò makes a wounded little sound at the contact and tightens his grip on the scarf around Yusuf’s neck, using it to pull him close enough to kiss. 

Yusuf barks out a laugh when their mouths miss slightly and brings his hands up to cup Nicolò’s face, angling it just right to slot their lips together, and oh, it’s hot and slick and _perfect_ , so perfect. It’s the best thing Nicolò has ever felt in his entire life, and he never wants it to stop. He lets go of the scarf to wrap his arms around Yusuf’s shoulders and pulls him closer to deepen the kiss.

***

“What happened to it?” Nile asks when Nicky’s finished telling the story. “The scarf?”

“I wore it until it fell apart. Nicky tried his best to patch it and keep it together as long as he could, but…” Joe trails off, looking up at Nicky, unsure if he should finish his thought.

“Time takes many things,” Nicky laments. “But we gain many things in return.”

“Like ridiculous ‘80s sweaters,” Nile jokes, lightening the mood.

“Yes!” Joe laughs. “Like those.”

“Come,” Nicky says, pulling Joe to his feet. “I want to listen to you and Nile talk about art for a while.”

Joe beams and stands up, pressing a kiss to Nicky’s forehead. “You mean you want me to talk about art and listen to Nile tell me why I’m wrong.”

“Mmm, that too,” Nicky agrees as Nile laughs.

They end up having to leave Bruges in a hurry when Copley finds them an urgent mission, and they don’t make it to Berlin until months later, right around Nile’s birthday. Not that she bothered to tell them. Nicky gets it, though. When you can live for thousands of years, what’s one birthday worth? Joe and Nicky haven’t celebrated theirs in centuries, and Andy doesn’t even remember hers past a “sometime in the spring.”

They decide Nile deserves a little celebration, though, so Andy gets her out of the safehouse for a while under the guise of training. Nicky’s pretty sure she’s taking her into the city center to learn how to pick pockets, but whatever, as long as she’s out of the house.

Joe helps him bake a cake and decorates it while Nicky makes macaroni and cheese from scratch. He knows it won’t be as good as the one Nile’s mom makes that she’s mentioned on more than one occasion, but he hopes it will be close.

Joe starts hanging decorations when Andy texts that they’re on the way back, setting Nile’s present on the table next to the cake when he’s done. Nicky pulls the macaroni and cheese out of the oven as Andy and Nile walk through the door, rushing over to stand next to Joe to yell “surprise!” when Nile follows Andy in.

“What is all this?” Nile laughs, taking in the banner Joe made, the decorations he hung from the ceiling.

“Happy birthday, kid,” Andy says, patting Nile on the head as Nicky lights the candles on Nile’s cake. There are 27 small candles in a circle around the outside of the cake, with a large number 1 candle in the middle.

Nile snorts when she figures it out and takes a deep breath. It takes her three tries to blow out all the candles, and they all cheer when she does. Nicky hands her her present, and she unwraps it carefully, to Andy’s clear consternation.

“Nicky, oh, my _god!_ ” Nile squeals and holds up her present: it’s a knitted red sweater dress with the number 27 in bright blue block letters on the front, a small white star centered above the numbers. The sleeves have two sets of blue and white stripes around the biceps, with a white star in between the sets of stripes. “This is amazing, Nicky, thank you!” Nile jumps at him, hugging him tightly. “I can’t believe you made this for me!”

“You’re welcome,” Nicky laughs, hugging her back.

“Wait. Joe, you said the banana sweater is in Berlin!” she says, rounding on Joe.

“I did! I pulled it out, it’s upstairs,” Joe tells her.

“Go put it on while I try this on!” she laughs, pushing Joe toward the stairs.

“As the birthday girl commands!” he says regally, making Nile snort.

Joe’s back downstairs before Nile is, so they all stand at the bottom of the steps and cheer and wolf-whistle when Nile starts making her way back down, the ‘80s-style sweater dress fitting her perfectly. She found a belt somewhere and belted it, and she really does look amazing. Nicky smiles as she plays it up, posing like a model as she walks down the steps.

Nile loses it when she sees Joe’s banana sweater, her full-body laughter so infectious that Joe has no choice but to join in. Nile’s still a little breathless when she pulls him into the living room, pushing the coffee table out of the way so she can set up a speaker and play some ‘80s music through her phone. She grabs Joe’s hands and starts dancing with him, laughing again when he spins her around.

Andy comes over to stand next to Nicky as he watches Nile and Joe dance, sliding her arm around his shoulder. He smiles and looks at her as he wraps his arm around her waist. She’s wearing one of the slouchy beanies he knitted for her a couple of years ago, a smug smile on her face. Nicky laughs and pinches her side, which earns him a cuff to the back of the head, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the warm contentment that settles in his chest as he watches Nile and Joe jump around, joyous in the sweaters he knitted them.

“Guess Nile’s officially part of the family,” Andy says, watching her and Joe dance.

“What?”

“Nicky,” Andy says archly, turning her head to look at him. “You knitted her something.”

Nicky frowns. “Of course I knitted her something. She’s…” _Family,_ he realizes but doesn’t say because Andy’s said it for him. And she’s right. Nile _is_ family. 

Nile looks over then, like she knows Nicky is thinking about her. She smiles and points to her sweater dress, giving Nicky two very enthusiastic thumbs up before waving him over to join Joe and her in their dancing. Joe looks hopeful when Nicky meets his gaze, and breathlessly happy. Nicky wants to kiss him, so he walks over and does. Joe laughs against his lips before deepening the kiss. 

Nicky breaks the kiss and turns to Nile. “Why don’t you teach me some of the dance moves you like?” Nile laughs and shakes her head, holding out her hand instead. Nicky takes it and grabs Joe’s hand with his free one. The man singing is saying something about spinning around like a record, and Nicky thinks it’s a good idea, so he pulls Nile and Joe around and around until they’re all dizzy and breathless with laughter.

  
  


*****

All of the '80s sweaters referenced in this fic exist! And they are GLORIOUS!

1: The Strawberry Sweater

2: The Banana Sweater

3: The Sweater Dress

**Author's Note:**

> The socks Nicky knits also exist! They're from Egypt, and they are absolutely fascinating. And bizarre!
> 
> [Read About It Here](https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/taking-a-closer-look-at-an-odd-pair-of-very-very-old-socks-84123314/)


End file.
